8o OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



dome gleams f riendlily. And as the beams of the 

 morning sun strikes this, like the tower of Mem- 

 non, it gives forth music, the silver-tongued call 

 of the old Lisbon bell. "Come back, come back," 

 it cadences to all who pass, the melody clinking 

 clear far over the level sea. It seems the spirit 

 of Nantucket born of its warm spring sun, its 

 soft winds and the friendly lives of the islanders 

 themselves, a pleading that echoes long in the 

 memory and that few can resist. 



